


Come Sail Away

by ClockWorkQueso



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Bakunawa au, Confession, M/M, Pining, can prolly stand alone, sequel to my other bakunawa fic, the au of the au where jeremy IS in fact the moon, wrote this instead of studying for a chem midterm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 21:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockWorkQueso/pseuds/ClockWorkQueso
Summary: Jeremy has something he needs to get off his chest.





	Come Sail Away

“So like, I’ve got this thing…” Jeremy mumbles around a mouthful of Pinkberry yogurt, as Christine dabs at a little chocolate sauce staining the corner of her mouth. Her cup is piled high with an unhealthy amount of toppings over plain vanilla yogurt. He’s discovered that it’s pretty impossible for her to pick just one of anything, ever, and also impossible for her to have any sort of consistency. Jeremy only ever gets the mango flavor, because he likes the tropical taste and the soft orange color. She delicately plucks out an M&M from a pillow of whipped cream and gestures to him with her spoon.

“’A thing’?” she repeats, and waves her spoon as if to hex him. “What kind of thing?”

An uprush of words tries to break and tumble out of his mouth, but the noise Jeremy makes is a noncommittal gurgle. Jeremy’s throat dries, and immediately wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“ _Hrhglh_ isn’t an answer, Jeremy,” Christine gripes, deadpan, but she must see the fear in his eyes because her countenance softens. She waits, patient, searching, but Jeremy only scoops an inordinate amount of yogurt into his mouth.  Immature? Maybe. He hopes Christine takes the hint and drops it. If Jeremy was any good at communicating, he wouldn’t even _be_ in this situation. Talking to anyone about his feelings, especially non-platonic feelings, has never ever ever been his strong suit.

Christine frowns, driving her spoon into her mountain of dessert and leaving it there, like a stake. “Does this ‘thing’ happen to be Michael Mell?”

“Hhhwhat the hell?” Jeremy squeaks, chest going cold, stomach swooping. He manages to keep the contents of his mouth from spewing out all over his friend, but just barely. His head aches with a brain freeze as his mind starts working overtime.

Oh god, oh god, if he’s that obvious then _everyone_ must know, _Michael_ must know, and if Michael knows and hasn’t said anything then he must think Jeremy is weird and creepy for being in love with his best friend or else-

Christine covers his clammy, shaking hand with hers on the tabletop. “It’s perfectly natural, Jeremy, don’t get so worked up about it, or get down on yourself. I know that look.”

Jeremy fixes her with a hard stare, disbelief coloring his features. He can feel his face burning. “ _Natural_?”

Christine grins reassuringly, patting his hand twice. “Of course, Jere-bear. It’s a big deal when your friend suddenly sprouts wings.”

Jeremy frowns, withdrawing his hand. The cresting waves in his chest settle. What did this have to do with Michael’s _wings_ , exactly? “Uh, um, yeah. So?”

“I mean, you _know_ he’s the same, deep down, but still. He’s radically different than he was just a few months ago. That’s what you’re thinking, right?” Christine says, drumming her fingers. Her eyes are searching.

“You think… I’m upset… that he’s a bakunawa?” Jeremy asks, measured. Numbness has overtaken his extremities. This is not going as well as he hoped- it’s somehow worse than what he expected.  

Christine’s eyebrows stitch together. “Well, aren’t you? Even subliminally?”

Jeremy knows this could be a way out of telling Christine about his god-awful crush, but he can’t throw Michael under the bus like that. He absolutely adores Michael, not in spite of his dragon blood, but, in some ways, because of it.

Unless… she’s saying he’s not _good_ enough for Michael, but he’s known that for years. He steadfastly ignores the moonsong crooning at him, subtly discouraging that line of thought. _Hush_ , he thinks. Christine is staring.

“No… no, that’s, uh, not it,” Jeremy mumbles, and pushes his frozen yogurt to the side. He’s not hungry anymore. Christine, bless her, waits. “We… might be here a while, though.”

Christine raises her eyebrows, nods, and casts a cooling spell on their yogurt so that it doesn’t melt. “It’s honestly fine. I mean, you’re holding up remarkably well. I had a friend in kindergarten named Christopher, you know, and—"

Jeremy makes to interrupt her, because he’s quickly losing his nerve, and once Christine gets going, she’s gone, but she holds up a finger and squints at him warningly. “This is relevant. Anyway, so, he and I were like, besties, right? Because we were right next to each other in the alphabet, and everything in kindergarten is about the alphabet. Until one day, I got really excited during arts and crafts and accidentally blew up a container of glitter. Glitter everywhere, in my hair, in his hair, on the floor, the tables. Man, the teacher was so _angry_! And glitter is, like, impossible to get rid of completely! But that kind of thing happens all the time with kids and their powers, so it wasn’t a super big deal, but Christopher stopped talking to me out of the blue, probably because he thought I was going to turn him into a frog.”

Overcome with the need to breathe, she stops. Jeremy opens his mouth, but she starts back up again, quicker than lightening. “My point is that new things, especially unexpected things, can be scary. And like, if you need to confide in me about how you don’t like it when Michael bumps his head into your shoulder, or how clingy he gets during full moons, or _whatever_ , I just want you to know that I’m here for you and I know that Michael will understand if you just communicate with him instead of shutting him out and excluding him from all of your birthday parties.”

Grinning, she retrieves her spoon and digs deep for a little bit of everything. Jeremy relishes the silence, gut twisting. She has it all wrong, but he doesn’t know how to explain his feelings without—“Oh, and another thing—"

“Christine, I’m in love with Michael!” Jeremy slaps a hand over his mouth as Christine’s jaw drops. In the back of his mind, thunder rumbles, even as his heart feels incredibly buoyant. Oh, _fuck_. Did anyone else hear him?

He takes stock of the general disinterest around them as Christine bounces in her seat. “We are _so_ talking this out, mister.”

“Like I said,” Jeremy hunches over, feeling seasick, “we’re gonna be here a while.” 

oOo

Telling Christine about his crush gets him nowhere. Shouldn’t spilling his guts make him feel better? For all of Christine’s fanfare and encouragement, he’s only overcome with this white-hot terror that someone knows, that Christine now has this incredibly sensitive and private information. No relief, no resolution. Just more coal in the fear furnace that is his mind.

The drive home from the mall is achingly quiet. Jeremy has to turn the down CD that’s playing before he bursts into tears, because it’s a mixtape that Michael made for him last summer. All that he’s left with is that weird noise you can hear when you listen to a seashell- not quite the ocean, but close.

Christine texts him a few times to check in. He ignores her. Jeremy will probably regret that on Monday, when he sees her again, but he’s decided to dedicate the weekend to taking a huge fucking chill pill. This whole debacle has cranked his anxiety dial up to, like, eleven.

He almost calls Michael out of habit, parked in his driveway, tight-chested and twitchy, until he remembers that _Michael_ is what’s got him on edge. The car door protests as Jeremy throws it open, and he stalks inside. With a cursory wave to his dad, he shuts himself away in his room like a typical moody teen. Is he above throwing himself on the bed? No, no he is not.

Staring up at the ceiling, he tries to steady his breathing, to focus on the simple push and pull of air.       

Jeremy never really understood the expression about letting a cat out of a bag. Like, why was it even in there? Isn’t it kind of a good thing that it’s free?

Letting _his_ cat out of the bag, though, letting Christine know about Michael, he thinks he might understand.

His secret, just like an angry cat, is scratching him up on the inside, and it’s running free, all scraggly and ugly and wild. Out of the bag, Jeremy can’t keep it hidden anymore, especially not if Christine decides to slap a collar on it and show it around. Oh, god, she could tell anyone. She could tell _Michael_. Jesus Christ.

And Michael, beautiful Michael, would look at his ugly and dirty stray cat of a secret and never talk to him again.

So, yeah, Christine got him absolutely nowhere. Jeremy pulls his phone out of his pocket and glares at his notifications before unlocking it and going into his contacts. He thinks he knows somebody that can empathize with him more, and might just have some useful advice.

oOo

Jeremy can’t deal with another face-to-face. Sunday evening, he decides to tackle another one of his irrational fears, and dials Rich’s number.

Rich picks up almost right off the bat, and Jeremy resists the pressing urge to end the call. “Wassup, my dude? You never call! Or at least, you never call me. Is Michael busy or something?”

Jeremy’s ears begin to burn, and he thanks the few lucky stars that he has that he decided to do this over the phone. “Um, actually, I w-wanted to talk to you. Ask you something.”

“Jeremy, you sound serious. Did something happen? Who hurt you?” Rich, as always, goes from zero to one hundred at the drop of a hat. Jeremy presses his free hand to his temple. Regret.

“No, nothing happened. I just figured you might be able to help me a little.” Jeremy moves to sit on the edge of his bed, running his fingers over the fabric of his comforter. “It’s kind of… personal. Like, between us?”

Rich is silent for a moment, and it sounds like he’s going somewhere. When he speaks again, it’s with a bit on an echo.  “Okay. Sorry, Jake’s over. I’m in the bathroom now. Shoot.”

“Okay, um,” Jeremy starts, and stops. He can feel his pulse hammering in his throat. Maybe he can keep things more… anonymous, this time around. “So there’s this guy-“

Rich gasps, like he just won the lottery. “I fucking knew it, oh my god.”

“Wh-what?” Jeremy stammers, and Rich laughs loudly into the receiver.

“Oh my god, Jeremy, you’re bi! And you came to me, because I’m—I’m such an icon, right?” Jeremy can almost see Rich preening, and grinning like a fool. He’s suddenly struck with the image of an overexcited golden retriever. “Jeremy, listen, there’s nothing unnatural about what you’re feeling-“

“No, Rich,” Jeremy pleads, “you’re-“

“A really great friend, I know- hang on-“ Rich leans away from his phone, and Jeremy can just barely hear the buzz of Jake’s voice, “yeah, babe, I’m good. Jeremy’s on the phone. Go ahead and pause the movie, I’ll be a minute. Love you too.”

 Jeremy plucks frantically at a few stray threads. Why in the hell is this so _difficult_? A chill runs through him, and he swears he can taste ozone. “Okay, yes, I’m bi, but that’s not why I called.”

Rich bulldozes on with his earlier tangent anyway. “Shit, man, we gotta start a club. First Chloe turns out to be a lesbian, now we’re both bi. Michael’s gay, right? And what’s with Christine?”

Jeremy flops back on his bed, restraining a groan of frustration. “Rich, that’s a great idea, but I wanted to ask about you and Jake.”

“We would need matching jackets,” Rich says, giddily, then starts giggling like a maniac. Jeremy can imagine that, if he were transformed, his tail would be going approximately one hundred miles an hour.

Jeremy puts on his most authoritative voice, best used on Michael when he’s acting particularly childish. Or when the moon won’t stop waxing poetic about his best friend. _Eugh_. “No, Rich.” _Bad puppy_. “You and Jake. How did you-“

“Is this a sex thing? Because, like, I love you man, but some things are kinda personal and there’s the internet and everything.”

Jeremy resists the urge to throw the phone across the room. Like a sudden flash of lightening, he has the idea to use his weird moon powers to get Rich back on track, if they even work over the phone. Oh, god. No way. He wouldn’t resort to manipulating his friends like that. “Okay, guh, never fucking mind, Rich. Go get back to your movie.”

“Ooookay….” Rich draws out the word, giving Jeremy every chance to tell him the truth. Jeremy, fearing for his remaining sanity, lets the last syllable hang in silence. “Alright, bye, buddy. See you at school Monday.”

“See you, Rich.”

“And, uh, good luck with… whatever’s going on with you. No judgment. Totally bi.”

“Thanks,” Jeremy mutters, then ends the call. He wants to scream. _Do it_. Okay, then. He grabs his pillow and screams into it like some teenage dramady character. The waves in his chest become tumultuous, rolling with emotion. It batters his heart, and he can taste the sea. Bleagh. Salt. “What good did that do?” Jeremy wonders aloud, contemplating crawling under the covers and just sleeping it off. He’s resigned to dying single, and alone. It’s fine.  

Suddenly, Jeremy’s door is thrown open, and he bolts upright. “Is everything okay? I heard you yelling.”

Jeremy gives his dad a once over, half-expecting him to be less than presentable, but he actually looks pretty good. He’s been doing so much better lately. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… tired.”

His dad studies him for a moment. “You know you can talk to me, Jeremy.”

“I know,” Jeremy mumbles, and he means it. But his dad was never really the touchy-feely type, not the one that dealt with Jeremy’s many anxieties over the years. He always thought his dad was the strong one, and that was why he got really awkward about emotions. Turns out than he and Jeremy both just really hate facing things head on. _He is what you have._ Ugh. What did the moon know about emotions? _I am older than the human race,_ it sings, _I know plenty._ Jeremy never pegged the moon as condescending, but here they were. 

“Hey, Jeremy? You’re kinda spacing out on me.” His dad snaps his fingers, and Jeremy blinks.

“Sorry,” he says, and then takes a breath. Time for a little transparency. Who else could he tell? And… maybe his dad knows something, why he’s like this. “It’s the moon.”

Jeremy’s dad looks at him like he’s crazy. He might be. He didn’t consider that.

“No like,” Jeremy waves his hands in front of him, wishing, once again, that unsaying things could be done. “Did mom ever say anything about us being… cursed, or something?”

“Um, no. What’s wrong, Jeremy?” His dad steps into his room, and moves to sit on the bed with him. Jeremy slouches over more, but scoots over, allowing his dad to settle in next to him. Jeremy doesn’t say anything, at least, not at first. The weight of his secret, of this thing that’s pestered him for years, is heavy, and huge, and he’s not sure what to unpack first. Something like pressure swells behind his eyes and behind his ribs, and a static buzz races through his veins.

He is silent, choked by dread, until his dad brings up a hand around his shoulders. And it’s like a dam breaks. He tells his dad everything, from when he was tiny little and could do things with a voice that wasn’t quite his, how he could hear things that others couldn’t, and no one, not even his parents, ever believed him. He blubbers about how he slowly and terrifyingly realized that he had feelings for Michael and that, to make it worse, he’d probably never be good enough to have them returned. And he finally, finally, explains how the moon has come back full force, insistent and inexplicable and he doesn’t know why this is happening and why he feels what he feels, why he can’t seem to do anything right at all, but what he does know is that repressing things isn’t working anymore.

By the time he’s finished, Jeremy’s throat feels awfully raw, and he wordlessly follows his father to the kitchen for something to drink. Why me, Jeremy thinks, as he chugs an entire glass of water, trying to chase away the briny feel in his mouth. _You were born for this_ , he hears, in his head, crooning and calming. Which doesn’t help much, but the effort is appreciated. It looks like his dad is still piecing together what exactly to say.

Finally, his dad sighs deeply, and speaks. “Okay, Jeremy, I don’t know much about magic, I’ll be honest with you. But I do know about relationships. And, you know, you think you’re, god, less than Michael? Because he’s a dragon? Jeremy, you’ve known him for twelve years. Is he the kinda guy to judge based on something as simple as anatomical differences?”

In essence, this is what Christine said too. Just not so goddamn accusatory. And it stings, like salt in an open wound. “No, of course not! But it’s more than that, Dad, he’s-“

“Your best friend,” his dad says, much more gently. “And he loves you no matter what. People are more than what’s in their blood, even humans, son. The only thing really holding you back,” he pauses, and taps his head, “is you.”

Jeremy flounders. “But-“ 

“Would you love him if he were human?” His dad asks him seriously. “If he were human and you weren’t?”

Unequivocally. “Yes.”

“Right. So why would you assume he’d say any different?” His dad turns and roots around in the fridge for a drink, and Jeremy takes the opportunity to refill his own glass. Choppy waves make it harder to think, and the normally cool, buoyant feeling in his chest is instead heavy and humid. _You know he’s right_.

“He wouldn’t say different.” Jeremy stares into the water. It trembles a little, as if drawn towards him.

“That’s right. Now, about the moon thing-“

“I can’t keep hiding. That’s it. That’s why…” His body feels charged, like the air before a huge storm. The sound of rushing water fills his ears. “No more denial. About me. About Michael. That’s it, isn’t it?”

_Yes_. The sleepy song wavers, shifts to a higher key, as his dad nods his head. “Yeah, sure. Running never solves anything, Jer.”

“Okay. I’ll be back.”

His dad just shrugs. “Okay,” then adds, “school night.”

“Right. I’ll be back before, um… soon.” Jeremy jogs to the front door, and toes his old sneakers on. It’s like he’s broken free of a fog that he never knew was there; his head is clear, his heart is light, his blood is electric. Thunder rattles his ribcage as he swipes the car keys, and steps outside.

He has no idea what he’s doing, but that’s never stopped him before.  

oOo

Tita, long accustomed to having Jeremy showing up at her house unannounced, does not bat an eye as he lets himself in, even though its nearly nightfall on a Sunday. She cheerfully informs him that Michael is downstairs, probably playing video games or listening to his records. Feeling bold, he slips into the kitchen behind her to tell her about what’s going on with him.

She doesn’t seem surprised. He gapes at her as she continues stirring whatever she’s making, completely nonplussed. “You think Michael is the only one who knows how special you are, Jeremy?”

“You… you always said that I had a different kind of magic than Michael. Not ‘no magic’. Just different.” Jeremy realizes that he probably should have come to her first. Of course. She had never once discouraged him or dismissed him, while his parents only called him imaginative.

She smiles, and gestures to her spice rack. Jeremy pulls it closer to her, still shell-shocked. “Yes. You’ve been given a gift, Jeremy.”

“What good is a gift you can’t use?” Jeremy sighs, leaning on the countertop, and Tita laughs, deep in her belly, shaking her head.

She tastes her dish, and taps more spice into it with a flourish. “But you do, _anak_. You use it every day, by being you. You’ve been a blessing to Michael and I. Seeing you two grow up together has made me happier than you’ll ever know, and seeing you two now makes me _so_ proud.” A warm feeling overcomes Jeremy, like Tita’s just hugged him, even though her hands are more than busy cooking. Jeremy realizes, belatedly, from his few Tagalog lessons from Michael, that she had just called him her son. His heart flutters, and he blinks rapidly. Tita lifts her spoon, tastes again, and grins. “Now you go see Michael.”

“I- yeah, okay. Thanks, Tita.”

“Anytime, Jeremy.” She moves the pot off the burner and adds, “School night.”

“Right,” he laughs, and leaves the kitchen feeling a lot lighter. He isn’t out of the woods yet, however. 

Jeremy takes the stairs two at a time, nervous energy buzzing in his bones. The basement air is unusually heavy, but not smoky, and quiet. The only noise comes from the T.V. Michael is lying on his stomach on the floor, eyes trained on the pixel characters of Apocalypse of the Damned, somewhere between human and not. He’s trying to beat one-player mode, to get all the cool unlockables. Judging by the very little noise he’s making, Michael’s not that into it.

“Hey. Need a player two?” Michael starts, turns, and then the biggest grin takes over his features. It’s like the sun breaking through heavy clouds, so unexpectedly warm and bright. Jeremy feels his face heat, and it feels like he’s seeing Michael for the first time. The things he loves most about Michael, things he’s actively tried to ignore, are now the only things he can focus on- the crinkle of his eyes, the soft sweep of his hair. And it’s incredibly, impossibly distracting.  

“To what do I owe this immense pleasure?” Michael pauses the game and stretches, not unlike a cat, and sits up, patting the floor next to him. Jeremy walks over and folds himself onto the carpet, surprisingly calm. Michael is his best friend. No matter what. Jeremy has a place here, in the Mell household- he always has, and he always will.  

“We gotta talk about something,” Jeremy says, and Michael lets his grin settle into a calmer, tenderer half-smile that melts whatever leftover reservations Jeremy had about confessing. Jeremy feels his tension ebb away, no—he _allows_ it to fade gently, like seafoam.

“Sure. Okay.” Michael, ever warm, leans into Jeremy. His touch is unusually electrifying, and Jeremy chalks it up to the situation. “Anything.”

And god, he wants to kiss Michael so badly. But, first. Communication. Honesty. No more running. “I’ve been thinking. About us.”

“Oh,” Michael breathes, and it might be Jeremy’s imagination, but he sounds almost hopeful.

“I’m not very good at, you know, this kind of thing, but,” Jeremy licks his lips, nerves attempting to overtake him again. The seawater in his chest is warm, rolling gently, now. Reassuring. He presses on, turns his head away from Michael. “I guess no one really is?”

Michael sits up again, and pushes himself so that he’s sitting in front of Jeremy. He’s as serious as Jeremy’s ever seen him, eyes intense, shoulders squared. He also has something like suspicion in the squint behind his glasses, in the rigidity of his posture. His tail gently sweeps the ground behind him. “Buddy, spit it out. You’re being really weird.”

Jeremy wrinkles his nose. “I’m trying to be sensitive.” Michael grimaces and whacks him on the shoulder. “Ow, what the hell?!”

“This is sounding way too much like… some sort of confession, dude.” Michael leans away from Jeremy slightly, and his ears twitch downwards. Michael can’t quite meet his eyes. Jeremy has a bit of trouble understanding why Michael seems so dejected. “Which is… not…”

“Actually, uh.” Jeremey lifts his eyebrows, and tries his best to maintain eye contact. The movies always made this part look so easy. He puffs out a breath, and Michael stares at his tomato-red cheeks instead of his eyes. “That’s… not too far off. It’s. Right on, actually.”

“Really?” Everything about Michael seems to perk up, moving to press into Jeremy again, but he shakes his head anyway, pulling his features into a glower. “Don’t mess with me, Jer. This isn’t some no homo thing, is it?”

“Uh, no. Genuinely, a, uh, 100% homo thing, I guess,” Jeremy fights the urge to stutter, heart fit to burst as Michael settles against his side and turns to look up at him. He still has a semi- glare going on, but his face is expectant, hopeful. “Well, bi. Rich and I are starting a club.”

Michael blinks owlishly, his lips twitching. “A club?”

Jeremy pretends not to notice that Michael is totally faking a serious frown, and also tries to ignore the mischief and joy shining in his eyes. “Uh, yeah. I called him a while ago to ask for advice, and he went on this huge bit. It’s funny in retrospect, but it really wasn’t helpful at all.”

“What did you need advice for?” Michael asks, petulantly, like he’s hurt that Jeremy went to Rich instead. He’s actively repressing laughter; Jeremy can sense him trembling from the effort.

Jeremy grins, feeling bold. He wraps two (2) arms around Michael, pulling them flush together in this awkward little side hug kind of thing, and says, “well, I was curious about confessing undying love to a best friend, but _you_ obviously would have been no help. You’ve left me hanging for _years_.”

Michael’s mouth pops open with a little gush of air, the tiniest, cutest _oh_ that Jeremy has ever heard, and he lets himself feel good about his wit and charm for about three seconds until he notices that Michael is crying. “Oh, holy shit, I’m so sorry, I, uh-“

He makes to scoot back, to give Michael some space, but Michael latches onto him like a lifeline, throwing his arms over Jeremy’s shoulders and _squeezing_ with enough force to seriously wind someone who isn’t accustomed to Michael-Mell-hugs-of-destruction. “Jeremy, Jeremy,” he says, like it’s the most important word in the world, and Jeremy crumbles too, sagging into the embrace.

Michael speaks after a long, languid silence, with just a bit of a sniffle beforehand. “ _Years_ , Jeremy. I mean, I never would have thought… I mean, you were never… I thought you’d never…”

Jeremy nuzzles into the red fabric covering Michael’s shoulder, huffing a laugh. “Yeah, me neither. Obviously. I mean, I’m just… me, you know, and you’re so—”

Michael jerks himself back, staring Jeremy down. His eyes are red-rimmed, but blazing. “Annoying? Pushy? A slacker? High-maintenance? I’m not perfect, Jeremy. And neither are you, but you’re pretty close in my books.”

Jeremy blinks back more tears. “You aren’t any of those things—”

“Jeremy I make you regularly climb out onto my roof to try and keep me from flying into the moon,” Michael grits out, and Jeremy barks a laugh. “Seriously! And I steal all your blankets, and make you listen to the same songs over and over, and I’m _way_ too clingy—"    

“Oh my god,” Jeremy huffs, and bridges the distance between them. Michael’s lips taste like Pepsi, and he’s just _a little_ worried about the teeth, but it’s just really. Nice. Soft. Warm. And then Michael pulls back.

Michael stares at him like he hangs the stars. “Wow, okay.”

“Um, yeah. So.” Jeremy glances off. “I know you’re like way out of my league,” he says stubbornly, which earns an eye-roll from Michael, “but, do you wanna, like, maybe go out with me?”

“Jeremy,” Michael says, almost choked up. Jeremy feels a clawed hand cover his. “I’m in love with you.”

They make out until Tita (very loudly) comes down the stairs and informs them that dinner has long been ready, and that she’s been calling them for thirty minutes.


End file.
